[Archive]Roll 2 Dodge: Invictus

FRONT PAGE LAST UPDATED: 07 March, 2012
ROLLS LAST UPDATED: 07 March, 2012

Title: Invictus: the Unconquered
Author: Bigkahuna
World Info: the World of Invictus

---

Invictus:

The Unconquered

Prologue:

Game Overview:
Mid-high fantasy level. Medieval-type settings, magic use, races other than humans, potential deities or super humans [demigods].

Invictus takes place primarily on the Great Continent [Askahad] and the surrounding islands, but new areas could potentially be explored in the future.

The world is tolerating its longest period of unrecorded peace in history. Unrecorded, because 6 months is the farthest any of the inhabitants can remember without referring to the Histories. Tolerating, because the two rival nations Trinnea and Allebe have been itching to dive for each other's figurative throats for years.

They have been held back up to this point in time by the clergy-endorsed fear of supernatural judgment, the very real fear of a full-scale war between two powerful monarchies, and a veiled threat of intervention by the R.A.N. [for origins of this republic, read the above spoiler].

However, all that is about to change. Preparations are quietly being made by both sides for potential conflict, and a complicated network of spies sows seeds of discord throughout the buffer nations protected by R.A.N.

Into the midst of this deceit and intrigue, you are cast - simple students, only learning about a lifestyle that you envy - attempting to discover a life of adventure.

You are going to get a lot more than you bargained for.

---

The world has the same basic natural laws as Earth, and is set in a pre-Renaissance technological period. Some basic mechanical contrivances have been created, but higher technological pursuits have mostly been set aside in favor of the magical arts. Much of the armor, weapons, and even some appliances have been augmented with magical components, or imbued with spells.

Magic has always had some inexplicable affinity for the human race, especially after the creation of the Rune Stones. Using these, one can cast spells learned from scrolls, tomes, scholars, merchants who have invested in the magical market, and others such as these. As your knowledge advances, you may alter inscriptions and perhaps even create spells at your whim. More on the Magic system will be explained as you encounter it in game.

Mechanics:

Skills:

Criticals:

Life and Death:

Character Application:

Notes on Role-playing:

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

-Invictus


Currently Playing:
1. AerynPierre (Earnan)
2. Rulyon (Kyric Vandergraft)
3. Talkal (Emaldeth)
4. 8680 (Aranna)

Waiting List:
1. JackBarber
2. its_crunchtime
3. Saima

Dearly Departed:
1. Flamelasher (Atem). Removed for inactivity. Died tragically while _______.

EDIT as of Feb 07, 2012: Note for Players: To see your complete, unabridged character profiles (the info you gave me in your application), click here. I use the "Personality" section to influence your outside-of-roll interactions a bit, so comment on it if you would like me to change anything.

To comment, press the "Comments" tab in the top-right-hand corner of the screen and click on "Show Comment Stream," or press the "Insert" button and press "Comment." Or type Ctrl+Alt+M.

Please comment if I've made any mistakes!

Introduction

Spoiler:

It has all come down to this: this final hour, this last despairing struggle. In front of you lay your greatest hope. Your greatest fear.

It is your move. Your moment. You look into the eyes of your opponents, searching for some shred of compassion, mercy, a bare modicum of decency; there is none. You are looking into souls as empty as the void. Cruel, cold, and calculating.

A drop of sweat rolls down your brow. The others are smug now, almost cocky with the assurance of their triumph. Many plots and designs were needed to reach this moment, and they have all failed you.

You reach out your hand to yield to the inevitable… But wait. Something has changed. An alteration in your perception, perhaps? Or was the answer in front of you all along?

This time, you are the one smiling.

Your rivals’ conceited sneers falter for a moment, and their eyes slowly drop to the object of this unexpected change. Realizing his lethal blunder, one of your adversaries blanches and involuntarily clutches the solid, oaken board in his lap until his hand begins to shake violently.

You reach out your hand again, this time to grasp victory…

“Fire rune to-”

HALT!

The wagon abruptly comes to a stop, upsetting your makeshift table as well as its contents: your precious game of Runes, which (each of you felt) was a moment from ending in triumph. The precious runes scatter all over the gravel road; the armed guards coming behind you grinding them into the dust did not help your prospects of retrieving them.

“My runes!”

“…”

“I was... winning…”

“I doubt that... Everyone knows you couldn’t beat a troll at R-”

Your argument was interrupted with a shove by one of the men hired to protect the convoy.

“Cap’n wants to see you out front.”

You rolled your eyes. These mercenary types – too cocky. Not that you warranted much respect as a church courier, but that would soon change. Then you would put all those privately hired upstarts -- with real armor and weapons… and they had emblems! --in their place. But for now, you looked on rather enviously. After all, they got all the cash… all the glory… all the real armor and weapons and women and…

---

Mail duty for such an ethical institution was not as thrilling or as stable as you would like it to be. After all, your only purpose was to sit in a wagon and hold onto letters, notices, excommunication warnings, and holy things until you reached your destination. Besides, all these confounded private armies were forcefully outdating the dispatch system.

The Church and all of its wardens, branches, offices, cults, and rejects were quarantined in a diminutive country in the crossroads between the three major realms. Dubbed the City of the Pantheon, the clergy-owned state was bordered on all sides by small, independent provinces. These were ruled by petty lords from all three kingdoms who were either court outcasts, or bootlickers trying to eke some sort of power from mooching off the religious authorities.

Free from the constant supervision and protection of their sovereigns, most of the nobles spent their days in constant fear of each other, building up their militia as if someone actually desired their few square miles of farmland, taverns, and mountain men.

Still, why all the soldiers? In fact, if this mission had not come from the top you would probably be traveling alone. Apparently, the Rector himself sanctioned it after miraculously recovering the illnesses bestowed on him by old age or a lifetime of inhaling the smoke of incense and sacrifices.

Well, who knows? No one ever tells you anything. All you knew was that you had to deliver a highly important document to some insignificant person who owns an inn in some backwater town in the backwoods of some district or other. You are unaware of the document’s contents -- heck, you haven’t even seen the document. You suspect the only reason you are here is to put a stamp of Church authority on the mission.

---

You stroll to the front of the caravan, where the captain of the venture – a short fellow with a feather in his cap – is sitting on his packhorse looking quite agitated. His disheveled salt-and-pepper beard is being further tangled by his nervous chewing on it. Seeing you come forward, he beckons you over to his side.

“Cahfnun Ferehh Kublll,” he says, sticking out his hand. Then he discharged his mouthful of beard. “Captain Feris Kobol,” he tries again, his face flushing. He had about as much confidence as he did height, and you assume he probably did not achieve the (not-so-) lofty position of militia captain by natural merit.

You introduce yourselves.

“Good. Pleasantries aside, let’s get to the point. I assume you know the nature of this task?”

“The usual, I suppose. Mail delivery.”

He smiles thinly and without humor. “Not quite that simple. The delivery location lies in the territory of Lord Viktor Reik – do you know of him?”

“Vaguely. He has a history of resisting church intrusion on his property.” The map of the City’s surroundings was struck through with a big red ‘X’ where Lord Viktor’s property lay. It was commonly known by all church couriers that there was risk of heavy tolls, harassment, and/or dismemberment when traveling on Viktor’s land; his personnel and other such chattel staunchly contest this.

“Does he now?” Captain Feris looked at you closely. “That would perhaps explain recent events, but perhaps not. It has come to my attention that Reik has a vested interest in receiving the contents of our package himself.”

“How would you know that?”

“I sent two of my men out three hours ago to scout the road ahead,” he says softly. Nothing strange there. No roads are safe any longer outside of the City. Well, outside one of the temples. Even the City of the Pantheon had one of the worst underbellies the world of crime had ever seen.

“One of them returned just recently. Unhorsed. Heavily wounded. Apparently, they were ambushed just inside the forest… He’s not going to make it either,” he finishes.

He legitimately cares for his men. Imagine that.

“That still doesn’t prove anything,” you respond after a moment of silence, “it could have just as easily have been bandits or highwaymen.”

“Carrying these? I don’t think so.” He fumbles in his pack for a bit, and eventually pulls out two… are those crossbows? And not just any crossbows! Military-grade, spring-loader/launcher, steel-filament bowstring, oh-so-delicate sights, even a shoulder pad! and… Holy GODS is that enchanted?!?

“I see you recognize a fine weapon when you find one,” Captain Feris responds to your awed expressions, “oh, you spotted the emblem?”

So it was not enchanted. All runes look the same to you.

“That’s Reik’s mark,” he explains grimly, “the gods know where he’s getting these weapons… incredibly well made, and flawless, mirror images of each other! And if that wasn’t proof enough…”

He opens up his pack again and pulls out a small package where you saw the document being held. He opens it up; it is empty.

“Before he lapsed into unconsciousness, our scout reported that his armor was taken from him after his attackers dumped him on the wayside. I suspect that is how they managed to retrieve the document and escape suspicion so easily.”

This was bad. Very, very bad. If the Rector himself had come off his deathbed and authorized this operation, failure could be disastrous for everyone involved, least of all the captain. Your own necks are on the line! Besides, assassins could be inside the camp at this very moment. They already killed two of the detail, so four unarmed couriers would be short work.

“So, some power-hungry noble or other is trying to kill us – and is doing a smashing job, I might add – and even if we do survive the Rector will have our hides for his prayer robe.”

Feris shifted slightly. “That second point is the reason you were called over. I’m unsure what you know or why you’re here, but this delivery cannot fail, or my livelihood,” …which he probably paid a good deal of money for… “ as well as yours, I might add,” …this captain is shrewder than you thought… “will be finished.”

“I want you to find the thieves – wherever they are – and retrieve the document.”

“But they’ve probably already reached Lord Viktor by now.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt it. If this dispatch is as important as I suspect, Reik doubtless plans to silence the recipient as well. You know where the letter was headed?”

By-river Township, the Hairy Goblin Bar (and Lodgings), Selma the innkeeper.

“But Captain Kobol, you do realize that we’re unarmed church couriers…”

“Ah, but that’s the point. None of us can leave the camp without risk – we are militia from another province, and therefore disposable. Your deaths, however, would cause quite a stir.”

“Unarmed… church… couriers…”

He sighs. “You’ve had combat training? Good. You already have some basic weapons.”

“What about supplies?”

“…Just tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to see it through. But hurry! We don’t know how much time we have.” He fell back into his agitated, rather panicky state. For a while there, he had seemed a keen strategic officer.

---

Wait - tell him what you need? A blank slate? Forget this courier business. After this last job – maybe even before this last job – you would be set for life. Finally fulfill your dreams of traveling the world saving beautiful women… and helpless villagers and such of course.

But then there was the matter of papers… just identification, really. The program started about six months ago, and it essentially traps a person permanently in their occupation. A thousand fiery deaths on whoever introduced it… But there are probably dozens of places where you can get papers altered or forged. Heck, the Holy City itself is probably the home of the industry.

---

Discussion Mode:

Discussion Points:

Character Sheets:

Roll #1

Rulyon:
I request some light leather armor I can wear under my robe, a falchion, a dagger, one of the confiscated crossbows, a quiver of bolts, rations, healing supplies, torches, rope, map, bedrolls, medical journals, bandages, thread and needle.

Earnan and Kyric decide to make the best of the situation.

Kyric addresses Captain Feris. "None of us have any ranged weapons, and those crossbows you found..."

7 - "...would doubtless be perfect for your purposes?" he finishes. "I'm sure they would, but we acquired these at great price, and if you don't mind I'd rather hang on to them."

You suspect they'd bring him a tidy profit in whatever military circles he associated with.

"...Well, not to sound too insensitive, but with two men less you have an excess of weapons, and we don't know who we may run into-"

"But not for all for of you," he retorts. "Listen. I'm already breaking about half a dozen laws by giving you basic supplies. The crossbows are now, technically, the property of our beneficiary Lord Kelton. We're stuck in the middle of this godforsaken clearing surrounded by trees. I'm sending you on a fetch and delivery mission."

Earnan steps in. "Oh, really? That's all it is? Well, I guess you won't need us four to carry out such a trivial task..."

Feris glares at you, but finally gives in. "Fine. I don't plan on fighting, so you can take my crossbow," he hands you a small packet of bolts and an infuriatingly normal but serviceable crossbow, "as well as my throwing knives. Some supplies are in the wagon."

"What about some armor? Some leather armor would do - not anything too fancy."

3 - "Do I look like I'm made of money? I just gave you my own personal equipment- even now I'll probably die in some goblin invasion or other. I hope you're happy."

...Okay then. You'd go to the supply wagon.

---

Supplies were sparce- too sparse - especially since you didn't want to endanger the remaining mercenaries by taking all of their healing supplies.

7

However, you did manage to find enough rations to last a couple days, a general map of the area, and some potions. You had almost thought, what with Feris's miserly nature and all, that you were going to be reduced to bandages and home remedies.

AerynPierre:
Request medical supplies and see if anyone has a regular bow, either gifted or bought. Will take a crossbow if its all that available.

You walk up to the soldiers to see if you can acquire any more supplies before you leave. They look calm enough, considering two of their number had been ambushed. In fact, they were... gambling.

Over the scouts' belongings.

"Well, looks like they're coping." Kyric mutters.

One of the men looks up from his dice, smiling guiltily. The injured soldier cries out from his makeshift stretcher next to the floor of the wagon where they're playing.

Earnan breaks the silence. "Feris is sending us out to the town and we need some supplies, weapons in particular." You glance at the scout's bow, lying on the table. "Ranged weapons in particular."

16

"Yeah?" The soldier sneers. "As if we weren't in a tight situation already? I don't see what's in it for us."

"Well, I could tell the Captain that you're gambling over your friend's boots."

The bow and quiver - as well as the soldier's own, once you pressed him - was shoved in your hands.

"We'll need four sets of armor too, maybe some changes of clothes," you continue, trying to capitalize off your success.

"You serious? I'm not taking this armor off 'til I'm home in Glendale. Not after... And we only have enough clothes for us. I'm sure they'll have some in that town we were going to."

These country hicks were the best that the modern military system could churn out? This is pitiful. The entire camp is looking over their shoulders and staying in their wagons, as if assassins were hiding in every tree.

You look at the scout, and... OKAY maybe some of their fear is justified.

Captain Feris rides up. "You're still dawdling here? Get a move on! Daylight's fading. We don't have any spare steeds... well, we're not going anywhere so I suppose we do. Grab four of the packhorses and get going. By-river is... that way," he says, pointing north-east. "You can take the road if you're feeling brave, though I doubt anyone would attack a church courier, or you could go through the woods. It'd take longer, but there's a bluff on either side that should keep you from sight."

Discussion Points:

Items Acquired!

Iron crossbow x1
Steel bolts x9
Throwing knives x5
Oaken short bows x2
Iron-tipped arrows x26

Character Sheets:

Roll #2

Rulyon:
I take the crossbow and bolts for myself, then say:

"We're couriers, not woodsmen. None of us have the training to prevent getting lost in the forest. If we get lost we're as good as dead anyway, so we might as well take the road and remain vigilant."

You strap the crossbow over your back, and pocket the pouch of bolts.

Taking a look at the road ahead, you notice that the forest appears fairly dense and unforgiving, considering your equipment and experience. Besides, speed is key, and getting lost in the woods would defeat the purpose of your mission, not to mention you'd probably be dead before nightfall.

You voice your thoughts to the others, and Emaldeth agrees with you. Atem and Earnan are still mulling over the situation.

Talkal:
Exchange buckler for second sword.

"What can we expect on the road?"

"Not much is to be hoped. If you're lucky, maybe the odd deer or traveler. Probably not even any travelers - these country types are clannish and tend to stay inside of their hovels. If you're not lucky, a mercenary group of unknown size that may or may not be trying to kill you."

He didn't mince the facts.

"How long will the trip take?"

"On those horses? About three, four hours to be sure."

"Wait- is that good, or bad?"

Feris had already turned away and was berating his men for gambling while on-duty.

You walk over to the more intelligent men who had left their dice before Feris got there.

"Hey, do you think we could make an exchange...? My buckler for one of your swords? It's in great condition, and-"

1

The soldier chuckles. "That piece of scrap metal? No thanks."

Discussion Points:

Items Acquired!

Throwing knives x5
Oaken short bows x2
Iron-tipped arrows x26

Character Sheets:

Roll #3

AerynPierre:
Takes a short bow and arrows, also a throwing knife was an additional backup.

You strap a quiver of arrows over your back; luckily, the bow fits within the quiver as well. A spare throwing knife to augment your collection... and you're set for whatever any blasted bandits can come up with.

All the same, the woods don't look very promising, especially with horses and a need for speed.

"I agree with our friend, as much as I explored the woods as a lad...as a group we would be better off on the road."

Flamelasher:
Get some light leather armor.

15

Captain Feris waves you off. "I already told you -- we don't have any armor to spare. We're not a traveling armory. You'll have to make do with what you have, or what you can buy."

"But we have hardly any cash!"

He rummages in his pockets for a second, and tosses each of you some coins. "This is all I can spare. Don't spend it all on food and beer..."


Talkal: I'll take then the remaining knives.

"Off we go then! The sooner we depart, the sooner we will arive, and maybe we will get some warm, delicious food. Mmm..."

Pocketing the knives in the folds of your tunic, you rub your hands together to keep off the evening chill.

"We should get going. All this talk of food and beer... Well, there's always our pack rations."

Kyric agrees. "Yes, warm food does sound pleasant. These traveling biscuits are not my idea of a good meal."

---

Clop. Another cloud of dust sprays in your faces. These country roads were killers on the eyes. At least the packhorses seem to be holding up. It's been an hour and a half, and they're practically dragging their hooves in the dirt, jolting you whenever they move over some hole in the road.

So, no changes from since you began.

"How close are we to the village?"

"I'm not sure. I can't make out any landmarks or any recognizable features on this map."

"...turn it around."

"Oh. Looks like another two hours at the rate we're going."

"Great. Just great. The horses will probably be dead by then anyway. I almost think it'd be faster walking."

Snick.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Something from behind us. I didn't see anyone on the road... then again it was probably one of the horses."

Still... better safe than sorry. You look behind you, and into the forest on both sides. Nothing. The blinding light from the setting sun isn't helping much. Everything is casting a harsh glare into your eyes from the reflection -- your equipment, the dusty road, even the trees on the wayside have a bright sheen.

Wait... that's not from the-

"GET DOWN!"

It was too late. For the horses, anyway. In their fear, the packhorses rear and toss those of you who did not dismount onto the ground.

Twang! Twang!

Twang! Twang!

Shielding you from the shots was their undoing. Emaldeth and Earnan's horses collapse, their knees buckling, while the other two flee down the road, one of them hobbling.

The four of you huddle underneath an overhang that lies underneath the side of the road where the shots came from. The shooting stops, and you can hear no sounds from the forest.

What will you do?

Character Sheets:

Roll #4

Rulyon:
Take cover behind one of the horse corpses and load my crossbow.

14

Rolling out from under the overhang, you crawl behind one of the fallen horses, hoping that the other side of the forest is not watched as well.

AerynPierre:
Take cover behind my fallen horse, pull out my bow and notch an arrow. Scan to see if I spot any hostile movement...

19

Moving with Kyric, you position yourself behind the other horse and string your bow. Steeling yourself for the probable chance you'll loose an arrow, you scan the opposite bank for signs of trouble. Strange... nothing. If this is an ambush, it wasn't planned very well. Or just as well, they don't plan on the targets escaping. How encouraging.

Talkal:
Hide, and if enemies are in sight, throw knives at them.

Taking a knife in each hand, you carefully move another twenty feet and duck under the overhang again. There's no cover in sight besides what you're hiding under - if things don't come to a head soon, this isn't going to end well.

Rulyon:
As I'm loading I shout: [...]

They must be close -- you could hear the shots being fired. Maybe you should try a diplomatic approach?

"We are church messengers and have nothing of value! We do not wish to kill you but are prepared to defend ourselves if necessary. Show yourselves!"

You hold up your crossbow slightly to prove you are armed, and load a bolt inside with exaggerated slowness.

6

You weren't really expecting a response, but a deep, commanding voice echoes from the trees.

"Let us stop with these charades, Oathbreaker. Your feeble attempts at escape were futile. Do you wish to condemn us all to judgment? Come out of there and return to us."

What in Lo-kiri's name is this madness?

"What are you talking about? We are only church messengers. Let us be on our way and we'll keep an eye out for your fugitive."

"Fool! Are you yet so weak that you cannot command your own host? Or has your long sleep clouded your reason?"

Flamelasher:
Try to sneak around towards the source of the arrows. Wearing what I think is a brown uniform and holding a wooden shield, I should be hard to see in the poor lighting of the trees.

Bewildered by the conversation, but nonetheless seeing an opportunity, you crouch down and make your way under the overhang.

14

Traveling a couple hundred feet, you scramble up the bluff and make your way into the woods out of sight. Then, you follow the sound of the man's voice... muffled, but still audible. It seemed that whatever Kyric said angered him, because the voice got louder and louder until the entire forest was echoing with its strength.

9

Looking ahead, you see the bodies of your horses crumpled down on the road... the tip of Earnan's bow sticking up from behind his vantage point... and a glint in the trees. Throwing yourself behind a shrub, you look out to see two men in full armor pointing their crossbows at the road. One of the men was still yelling at Kyric, but the other was looking watchfully around the clearing. You'll have to wait for a better opportunity... For now, you listen carefully.

"Even now I feel the heat of his anger."

His voice was getting shriller with every word.

Come out of there, or there will be a reckoning for you! I command you!

His last word peaked at a frequency so high it burned your ears. The four of you fell to the ground, feeling as if something was trying to get into your head, and then... you gave in.

...it is not him. Not any of them.

How is that possible? His presence I can sense shrouding them.

They are church messengers. They must have been near him at some time.

Or they know something. Even at this point it's too great of a risk to ignore. Interrogate th-

M...aster calls us ba...ck. Anger is... great. Call them.

You gasp and cry out as feeling returns to your bodies. Atem sees the two men fall from the tree, and rushes over to investigate, bow drawn.

They were dead. No signs of struggle, wounds, or anything. What's more, they looked as if they had been dead for days. Hollow, grey corpses.

"Guys, you can come out. They're dead."

---

None of you speak as you examine their bodies. They're dressed in full armor - the same insignia as Captain Feris showed you on the crossbows.

However, you doubt this is a petty noble-church skirmish. Not after what just happened. You notice that only one of the men had a weapon: a normal crossbow; the other bore no arms at all. They both wore peculiar amulets... A red pentagram on a golden circlet.

What will you do? Whatever happens it looks like you'll be walking.

Character Sheets:

Roll #5

Rulyon:
Peel myself off the dead-horse cover and regain my footing.

You brush off your clothes and get away from the disgusting carcass, already covered in flies. And to make it even better, there's blood on your shirt. Ah, well. That's the price you pay for accepting this dupe of a mission. Was it a cover up? Who knows. But you definitely have some questions for Feris back at camp.

"Did everyone take the same message from them that I did? It sounds like they are looking for someone back at camp. Should we go back and warn them? They said something about an Oathbreaker."

AerynPierre:
Stands up, loosely keeping his bow at the ready...where all he has to do is pull, aim, and let fly if something comes up. Looks around slowly one more time before turning his attention to Kyric.

A twig snaps behind you; spinning around, you pull back your crossbow and...

"Oh, it's you Atem."

Atem is busy inspecting the bodies for valuables. Go figure.

Taking a careful look around, you're finally satisfied when nothing looks out of the ordinary.

You respond to Kyric. "We could, but our task seems urgent if we are to retrieve that document. I feel that for them to send us after it in such a way, it will be of great importance..."

"That may be true... but what if we were deceived?" Kyric says. It was a troubling possibility. Perhaps being sent out ahead to find these "lost" documents was merely a ruse. What if we're the distraction allowing this Oathbreaker to escape? We've already come under attack, and survived more through luck than any effort on our part. I'll not be a sacrificial lamb for some criminal escaping justice."

"Well, it was the Rector who sent us on this mission... I can't imagine why he would be trying to help a fugitive escape justice."

Flamelasher:
Loot the amulets and the crossbow, and check for bolts and gold.

Might as well make the most of the situation. You appraise the crossbow... it seems in good condition, Union standard, not too many signs of wear. A couple of the bolts snapped when the man fell from the tree, but there are still several intact.

No gold on him. A pity. What kind of soldiers are these? Who doesn't carry currency with them?

Those amulets look valuable, though. What's up with that funky symbol?

You take the amulets from the men's necks, and...

6

Immediately you sense some sort of... energy or power in them. They weigh down your hand. A strange urge comes over you, and you start to put it on, but you realize how foolish it would be to be playing with magical artifacts haphazardly.

You toss one to Emaldeth. "Take a look at this. Something's strange about it... I can't put my finger on it."

You pocket the amulet for now, careful not to damage it.

Talkal:
"Can we go now? I'm hungry."

You catch the amulet from Atem, and a strange feeling comes over you. It's probably just your stomach, though. It's been hours since you ate last, and you'd rather not eat your pack rations.

"Can we go now? I'm hungry."

Putting the amulet in your pack for now, you lean against a tree, impatient to leave.

---

Where will you go from here?

Character Sheets:

Player Vote and Travel

You all agree with Emaldeth... it would be best to leave as soon as possible. Where, you do not know; either way seems treacherous, and going forwards or backwards could lead you astray.

Why are you here in the first place? What is the true purpose of your mission? With the arrival of those decidedly uncanny beings, this... forest jaunt doesn't seem so innocent anymore. There has to be something else to this.

Kyric sums up your collective thoughts.

"So. We're in the middle of the forest, on foot, with hours-long walk before either destination. We have no information available to us to determine which would be the smarter decision to make: Continue on foot searching for the documents, or return to our group. I can't shake the feeling, however, that the "missing" documents aren't missing at all... our illustrious captain may have stolen them and sent us on a snipe hunt to distract the searchers and let him get away. But if there's some power taking over bodies searching for it, a presence that clearly decided to let us live since we weren't the ones it's looking for, perhaps the best thing to do would be to continue down the road and see what develops. That's my vote."

The rest of you mumble your agreements.

Atem looks at his shortbow and crossbow, trying to decide between the two, and finally shrugs.

Flamelasher:
"Anyone want this crossbow and it's bolts? I've got my shortbow."

No one claims it, so you stuff the two in your pack for now. Perhaps you could sell them once you get to whatever village you're heading to.

Earnan shifts nervously. "I also have a bad feeling about this... let's stay out of the road - maybe go along the treeline or within the fringe of the forest. Out of sight."

You turn your heads to the fading sun, setting the horizon on fire with its glorious rays. An endless path of trees await you, and it will be nightfall before your journey's end.

Jumping off the embankment, you land jarringly on the dusty, gravel road. Gathering your remaining possessions from where they lay scattered on the ground, you turn north-east under the shadow of the trees, and leave the horse corpses behind. Already, carrion birds were flocking to the site, and when you are a good distance away, they begin their grisly work. A flock of crows brushes over your head, tearing at your heads and cawing all the while.

As ill an omen as you could imagine.

---

Five hours later.

You squint your eyes at the dilapidated sign nailed to a fallen tree.

"Does that say By-river?"

You almost regret your decision not to purchase the dubious looking lanterns from the equally dubious peddler you passed on the road. You've been going on like this forever, it seemed - there were so many roads and by-roads and deer trails, and all of them looked the same. One would think that the largest (a.k.a. only) town-ship in... any number of miles would be fairly easy to locate, but every log house, dog house, and half-baked excuse for a Clanhall - the people still had clans here, for the gods' sake - had their own cordoned off section of land with no distinguishable traits other than their names; most of which were strikingly similar.

And the locals were no help either. The usual bunch spoke a strange dialect of Askad that made communicating nearly impossible. Every time you asked for By-river or pantomimed food and drink, they would laugh, pound you on the backs with their enormous, meaty hands, and then proceed to lead you to their respective halls and parade you - "oschtidurs" they called you - in front of their droves of relatives.

"'Bai-Rivvr - tunr eest'. Yeah, that's probably it."

---

The township was rather impressive, considering its neighbors. It came fully stocked with an inn - the Hairy Goblin Inn (and Lodgings) - a small weapons store, a couple dozen or so odd homes scattered about, the By-River Trading Center, some other booths for which you could not discern a purpose, and a roped-off section for an open-air assembly.

The largest house in the town (still small by modern standards) had a large sign in front that said,

"ASSEMBLY HOUSE for the
OFFICIAL BUSINESS of
the ASSOCIATION of
INDEPENDENT AUTHORITIES
of LANDRY PROVINCE"

Covering all their bases, you suppose. What was strange was that there were three doors to the house, one labeled "OFFICIAL BUSINESS," one labeled "PLEASURE BUSINESS," and one labelled "BUSINESS MATTERS." Peering in the window, you could see that they all led to the same room. Rather redundant. Nowhere did it say who owned the house, or who was dealing with all the "BUSINESS," but clearly someone was pulling ALL the strings in the town, despite their obvious care with using democratic terms.

The lights are still on in the inn - which had its doors thrown open with laughter and customers rolling out - as well as the Assembly House. The weapons store has a dim lamp lit in the window. The Trading Store was open with its door ajar, and two men were talking outside of it - both of whom had obviously visited the bar recently. The rest of the town was silent and empty, though. Its inhabitants were probably either sleeping (or trying to) or in the bar.

Where will you head first?

Character Sheets:

Discussion

After an extensive discussion, you all decide to head to the bar/inn first to satisfy your need for information and copious amounts of sustenance.

Extensive Discussion:

It looks well enough from the outside. A warm yellow light is seeping out from under the large double doors, sounds of laughter and singing coming from inside..

You open the large oaken doors, and a few cheers of welcome greet you from the crowd inside.

"Looks like more people are in the inn than there are living in the entire town," Atem mutters.

It's obvious that you're not the only foreigners in town. An odd assortment of travelers were scattered around the bar. In one corner, an old man in a cloak was talking furtively to a large group of rather short, burly men. Scattered throughout the bar were numerous soldiers, attempting to look inconspicuous but constantly looking over their shoulders.

You walk past one of them and whisper into his ear, "How goes the war?"

He blanches and nearly falls out of his chair, causing a general laugh. It's well known that the R.A.N. is not doing well in their effort to unite their diverse nation. An impossible task. There are so many different cultures, religions, sects, cults, and individual groups only concerned with killing each other off that keeping a massacre from occurring is the best that can be accomplished.

Many of the drafted recruits of the once proud army abandoned the task after a particularly nasty skirmish. Not many reports came back from the battle, and the official stance was obviously glossed over. Everyone who heard about it could tell that it was obviously a R.A.N. defeat.

But other rumors came back, probably from the deserters. Dark rumors. Creatures of the night, preying on the weak. Bodies found lifeless, drained. Little is known of the lands north of the Eldrik Mountains. In the R.A.N's lust for land and power, something could have been found that should best be left alone.

Of course, the first thing that comes to mind are the Vampiric Lords: blood-drinking, shapeshifting, children stealing beasts that blacken as their bodies burn in the sunlight, but those have always been just legend. But perhaps, a legend with a hint of truth? A troubling possibility.

As you walk up to the counter, a man at the bar turns around to look at you. His hood covers most of his head, but his ears -- his pointed ears -- are unmistakable.

"An elf," Kyric whispers. Many of the other patrons had noticed him as well, and not with kindness. Elves are generally mistrusted and avoided, even in the parts of the wide world where they are welcome. Wherever they are, it seems, great deeds -- fell acts, whether dark or otherwise -- follow them. Some say that they are immortal. Few enough have been seen dead or dying to prove or disprove this, and none of their race has deigned to speak on it. A secretive race, elves are.

"What could he want?" Earnan replies softly. As if in response, the elf's ears flatten against his head and the cloak is pulled farther over his head. You walk up to the bar, keeping a safe distance away from the elf, and call the barman over.

He's professionally jolly, with a pronounced paunch, undoubtedly from years of having direct access to the network of food that floats around inns and bars. You notice that he's wearing long, flowing robes similar to those of some of your counterparts at the Church.

"What can I do for you, strangers?"

"We'd each like a hot meal," Emaldeth says eagerly.
"And a mug of ale."

"Ah, excited to be back in an inn, I'd say," the man laughs. "Well, let me promise you that you won't be disappointed. The Hairy Goblin lives up to its name!"

"Oh... does it..."

"It sure does! And that will be 3 fragmae from each of you for the meal... Free if you buy a room for 7 fragmae... though I suppose with a group your size you'll need two rooms... you'll think about it? Great. Take a seat and I'll put it all on your tab. Name's Roald, by the way. Oh, and where did you say you were from?"

Well, with your uniforms it's obvious enough...

"We're church couriers."

For an instant he looks startled, and his eyes flicker to a corner of the room. You sneak a quick peek, but nothing's there. Then he recovers and smiles -- perhaps a little more guarded than before.

"Is that right... Well go take a seat. I'll be with you in a moment."

You each take a seat, feeling slightly perturbed.

"Did you see that?"
"He looked a bit scared."
"I don't see why he should be. It's not like we're very threatening at the moment."
"He said his name was Roald... I wonder where Selma is?"

Before you have time to speculate, Roald comes back, looking rather red in the face, with a large tray full of food. Putting it down with a sigh of relief, he doles out the portions to you.

"Er..." he says softly, "might I have a private chat with you?"

"Well, we're rather busy right now if you haven't noticed, and we're all starving."

He glowers at you, but walks back to his counter. You find it harder to eat with his stare boring into the back of your heads, but the food is delicious, and you finish it without complaint. Ready for some information, you walk back to the bar, noticing that the elf has gone.

"I still need to have a chat with you before you leave." Roald looks around quickly.

"We need to have a talk with you too," Atem replies. "About Selma."

"Oh, so you would like a room?" Roald says loudly and enthusiastically, "Well follow me! I'll show you where you'll be staying."

"What? But we di-"

"Right this way!" You start to argue, but he puts his burly arms around your shoulders and walks you through a door behind the bar and shuts it quickly.

"It's pitch black in here!"

"Wait just a moment..." Roald grabs a lamp from a nearby table and turns it on. The flickering light does little to help visibility, but at least your not tripping over boxes, of which there are many. It looks like you're in some sort of large storage room... didn't he say you were going to your lodgings?

Roald pulls a key out of his pocket and locks the door before any of you can protest.

"Sorry," he apologizes with a shaky smile, "but didn't want to bother the other customers with business chats and such."

"So about Se-"

"WAIT! Just... one... second."

Roald grabs a bowl full of water from the nearby table and sits down with it. Pulling out a few small objects from his robes, he drops them in the bowl and mutters a few words over it. Suddenly, the water swirls and lights begin to play over the surface of the water, glowing and flickering with the light of the lantern as if some strange spirit was inside.

"You're... a wizard..." You all step back warily. Who knows what a magician is doing as a bartender in a small town?

Roald laughs. "Wizard enough. Take a look."

Slowly edging towards the bowl, you lean over to see...

"It's the bar! You just made it appear in this bowl!"

He nods. "Now look closer. Can you see them?"

"See what?" There's nothing there but an empty table and chairs.

"Oh. You can't see them?" He sounds almost relieved. "Wait one moment... there. This should distract them." Some strain is evident on his face, but no change can be seen in the bowl...

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF-"

"QUIET! Others could be listening."

Four soldiers appeared at the seemingly empty table. They were looking into a bowl similar to the one Roald had, and you could barely make out five figures within it...

"They're watching us!"

"Aye. But watch this."

One of the men looks up for a second, and blanches. He whispers to the group, and the four men scramble out of their chairs and disappear out of sight. Roald ends the spell with a swish of his hand.

"Heh. He finally realized that someone could see him."

"But how did they make themselves invisible like that?"

"A simple Concealment spell. Glaringly obvious to any magic users, but does a fair job with the common crowd."

"So that means... we're..."

"Not magic users. Sorry. But, that could change. Most magic users are born, but some are made."

"Were you...?"

"That's a very personal question, you know," Roald snaps. "I'm much more interested about you... What do you want with Selma?"

Should you tell him, now that he's more of a threat than you expected?

Sensing your hesitancy, Roald stands up to his full height, not a small task. "I'm warning you... As you've seen, I'm an adept magic user, and anyone wishing to speak to Selma has to go through me."

A voice comes from behind you. "Is that so?"

You turn around, backing up against the wall, to see the four soldiers. Two of them have their hands on the hilts of their weapons, while the speaker is pointing a drawn bow at Roald. One of the men is unarmed, and is leaning against the door looking rather weary but self-satisfied.

"Well," the man continues, "the Lord Viktor has a message for Selma, and if she is not brought here immediately, we will have to go through you. This arrow, to be specific."

The man finally looks at you. "Ah! The couriers. Thank you for the safe delivery of the letter. Where is Selma? I suppose this brute," Roald glares at him, "is keeping you from telling us."

"Wait one second," Earnan says, "We never delivered the letter."

"What...?"

"It was stolen from us as we were escorting it... a couple men were killed."

"Wait -- this is still about that letter?" Roald looks annoyed at being ignored. "I told you already, Selma already got it..."

"Well how do you know she received the letter if it was stolen?" The soldier was getting increasingly frustrated.

"One of your soldier boys came to me and asked where Selma was, I told him Selma was in the- I told him where Selma was, and he went there, and Selma contacted me and said she it. She told me not to let anyone else come to her about the letter."

"And what about the messenger?"

"He... uh... didn't come back."

"What do you mean he didn't come back?!"

"Well, Blackwood Forest is a dangerous place," Roald said carefully, "and uh... oh. BY THE GODS, ROALD WATCH YOUR MOUTH!"

"So, she's in the forest?" The soldier smirks ever so slightly. "Right. Terrell, Pyle, stay here and watch the barman. He knows magic, so if he makes one false move, gut him." These words were obviously meant more for Roald's sake than that of the soldiers', but they had their intended effect. Roald sat down subdued.

He continued. "Cleff, come with me -- if Selma has gone rogue, we may need a magician."

"Yes, Lieutenant Rupin."

"And you -- couriers -- come with me, and you could redeem yourself for your absolutely shoddy work."

Ouch. As if you had any real part in the failure of this mission. You start to protest, but suddenly a loud crash is heard outside the door. Everyone dives away from the doorway out of instinct, except for Roald -- he stays in his seat, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"SELMA! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?"

You look out the doorway, and slowly a matronly woman, looking about 40 years of age, comes into view. She had been lying motionless on the ground.

You hear her voice, quiet as a whisper, yet magnified throughout the entire inn.

"Help me... they are coming."

Suddenly, a section of the wall is blasted open, and eight men come running through the entrance. The other patrons of the bar begin to panic; the old man covers his bearded associates with his robe and vanishes, the deserters scramble out of side doors as fast as their legs can take them, several woman faint, the whole scene is chaos. The new arrivals surround Selma -- two of them archers, four with swords and axes, and two with eldritch flame shimmering around their hands, one of them hooded. The hooded magician raises his hands, and speaks in a whisper that echoes as Selma's voice did...

"His anger was great, Oathbreaker. It should not have been ours to take. But now it is time for you to pay your penance."

Oathbreaker...

And with this, he raised his hands, and...

"NO!"

Roald gets out of his chair, a feral snarl on his face, and shoves you out of the way.

"FOOL!" Lieutenant Rupin yells. He draws back his bow and lets fly at Roald; the arrow lodges in his shoulder, and Roald stumbles and falls on top of the bar. He stands back up and throws an object into the air...

"Uldur!" he yells, and a ball of fire shoots out from his left arm. It flies towards the hooded one with unnatural speed. The magician turns around faster than the eye can see, and catches the fireball, which dissipates as quickly as it came into being.

The man takes off his hood, and your suspicions are confirmed. A golden amulet is dangling from his neck.

Lieutenant Rupin is relieved that the magician is unharmed, and steps forward to apprehend Roald.

"My apologies, sir, for our prisoner's untimely interruption."

"Rupin, you don't know who you're dealing with here," Atem warns.

But the hooded one only smiles. "Fluga," he whispers. A dagger comes whistling out of his robes towards Rupin, who shields himself in fear. He screams as the blade pierces his hand and fixes it to the wall.

"Kill them all," the magician whispers. "No witnesses this time."

Enemy Status:

Who will you side with?
What will you do?

Character Sheets:

Roll #6

8680:

...there's beer on my cloak now.

You had taken cover with a few other patrons of the bar after hostilities had begun, and were just now beginning to enjoy the perks of hiding under a table previously occupied by a dozen rousy drunkards.

"Get out of here, lady," the boy had said to you. He had to be no older than fifteen, but he was ferrying the people who were elderly and the few whose faculties had not been restored by the sight of drawn swords and were reluctant to leave their mugs.

And his face. Disdainful. His tone patronizing. You remember because he was too young -- had no right to be in a bar -- and yet he stood there, commanding you to leave as if you were in his way.

Am I just in the way?

The boy had come and gone, several times, until everyone was outside the bar. But you stayed. Finally, he too left -- a final derisive look of frustration as he passed.

Why am I still here?

It looks like some hit-and-run execution attempt went wrong. Some older woman. It could have been your own mother lying there. And those people -- church messengers, from the look of their attire. A few militia types, turned on by their own men. The bartender. He smiled at you.

What if...

No. They're casting magic! Magic, the stuff of dreams and legends. Your dreams. What power you would have -- to heal, to help, to save. But this... this was something different. Magic meant to kill. It shouldn't be like this.

What could I do...?

You have your dagger, and your dirk... They always say that a woman with a dirk up her sleeve is the most dangerous creature in the world. But could you use it if you had to? You've never fought before. You've read some instructional pamphlets and such, but would they work in practice?

There seems to be eight on each side of the conflict. One more trained fighter could change the tide of the battle. But... could you?

I'm out of my league...

What could I do...?

Why am I still here?

---

Rulyon:

You prepare yourself mentally for combat. Feeling the familiar rush of dread mixed with adrenaline-laced anticipation, you can't say that you're completely disappointed that things came to a head so quickly. Although, you would like to know what spirit-magician-whatever wanted with you. And to give him a piece of your mind for making you walk to this... place.

"Kill them all, no witnesses"? I didn't want to fight you, but you gave me no choice. It's you or me.

---

As the Lieutenant's screams continue to fill the room and Roald groans on the counter, clutching his shoulder, the hooded mage turns to his men.

"Spread out. Combat positions. Kill all of these -- the stragglers don't concern me," he says quickly. His voice seems to have lost its reverberating tone, but his natural pitch is just as forceful and all the more menacing.

The soldiers, strangely, only shift their positions- as if reluctant somehow... but the man just smiles.

"You are under my orders. Now do as I ask, and remember."

"But, what about the woman? ...Commander?"

"Leave her for now. Disposing of her will take more of my concentration than I cu-"

Rulyon:
Bring my crossbow to bear and shoot the hooded magician.

The magician turns his back on you- on all of you- as if you weren't a threat to be noted. Well, time to change that. Time to see what spirit-magician-whatevers are made of.

You draw the string of your crossbow and carefully place one of your bolts inside its casing. The action seems to take forever- the tension stretching out each moment. But the magician never turns his head; only continues to command his men. Slowly, you bring your crossbow to eye level and...

thwing

10

...the bolt flies true, heading towards the magician's neck, hidden though it is under the folds of his cloak. Heads turn involuntarily as the high-pitched whistle heralds the bolt's launch, but too late. Your bolt pierces the dark hood of the cloak- and then proceeds to exit the cloak at a different angle, coming to a quivering halt embedded in the wall.

A wrinkle of shimmering light encompasses the magician for an instant, but sparks and fades, and you see the second magician- a scrawny man with a hooked nose- flinch as the last vestiges of his magic are destroyed.

Wards. Hopefully that was the only protection on him.

Maybe he didn't feel it? Wait- he's turning around. He raises his hands, and you prepare to dive behind the counter, when a bellowing Earnan barrels into him.

AerynPierre:

Draw my short sword and power-charge at the soldier nearest me, hoping my quick action will take him by surprise.

Seeing that everyone was focusing on Kyric's crossbow and the incriminating bolt in the wall, you decide it's time for a little distraction.

"Oh- forgetting me, are you?!?"

19

The lead magician quickly turns his head, but any sharp retort- or spell- that would've been forthcoming was cut short when your sword connected with his shoulder with your full weight behind it, sending him crashing to the ground.

---

Commander Johannes Reik?

Pain. I had almost forgotten. Physical, of course. Mental is an entirely d- What is happening?

---

AerynPierre:

What was that...?

The cloak, with its supporting brooch severed, falls to the ground with him, revealing bright, steel chain mail. On the chain mail are two decorated plates with the Reik crest, only slightly malformed where your sword made a jagged gash through it, and around his shoulders are an astonishing collection of military trappings. Rather more imposing is the large broadsword dangling from his belt.

You've already expressed a less than complete knowledge of runes, but the flickering, glowing symbols along the sword definitely bring "magical" and "dangerous" to your mind.

Try to bowl the soldier over and (if successful), strike at the next soldier in line.

17

The magician, looking more stout and stocky than he did under his cloak, is causing quite a problem with his fall. With the other soldiers swearing and tripping over their fallen leader, you strike at the legs at nearest man to you, and the one whose balance is lacking the most- a brute of a man in full plate armor and wielding an enormous hammer.

You must have cut through the joints of his armor and hit a hamstring or something- needless to say, he goes down like a sack of bricks, taking a couple of others with him.

Selma, whoever she is, has managed to drag herself to a corner of the room and is lying there motionless.

The entire center of the inn is in chaos. Just how you like it. You step back and ready your sword and shield- the archers recovered more quickly than the rest and were retreating to the back of the inn.

Hopefully one of our people will send in some supporting fire.

Just then some supporting fire hit you in the shoulder.

Rulyon:
Then if I'm close enough, pull the knife out of Rupin's hand so he can move, while telling him: It seems the tide has changed, fight with us to kill this man!

12

The knife goes out easily enough, although the screaming does not. You'd think a lieutenant would be able to handle pain better, but there you go.

A series of images and sensations flash through your mind, vanishing in an instant.

A familiar presence...

"Come Lieutenant Rupin! The tide has changed. These men obviously are not who you think they are, and if you join the fight we'll have the advantage!"

His expression, clouded with pain and fear, finally clears and is replaced with determination.

"Right. Thank you..."

"Kyric."

"Kyric. Now- Cleff, throw me some of that water of yours. You and Pyle stay behind one of the larger tables and be our support. Terrell, get that woman to safety."

"WHAT!? Can't I-"

"Do it, Terrell."

Rupin takes the flask of water offered by Cleff, and pours some over his hand. Almost instantly, the hole begins to seal, flesh re-knitting and nerves connecting as you watch in revulsion, until it is completely healed, aside from some inflamed tissue on both ends of the hand. Rupin quaffs the rest, and charges into the fray.

Talkal:

Throw knives at the archers. After that, draw my sword and attack the nearest soldier, grabbing his sword.

What was that I just felt...?

You look into the chaotic jumble of human flesh within the inn, trying to single out the archers. There's one- struggling to escape from his fellows, ironic really, how th- wait. There's the other, already hiding behind a table in the back.

Carefully selecting your throwing knives from your equipment, you judge their weight in your hand for a moment. You felt as if you had been given the leftovers once you left on this mission.

"This is your chance to prove me wrong..." Holding a knife in each hand, you focus on the first archer...

whoosh
whoosh

1
5

But the behemoth in plate armor crashing to the ground was no little distraction, not to mention his fall causing people to fall left and right. The archers stumbled out of the way, and this- plus the smallest miscalculation on your part was enough to throw off the knives' trajectory. One knife came to a relatively harmless landing within a central beam, but the other continued into the crowd, eliciting a cry that was definitely not from one of the archers.

Woops.

AerynPierre:
GAH! MY SHOULDER!

Retreating from the circle of soldiers, you prepare to pull out the knife- these kind of weapons won't do to be left inside such a location- and grit your teeth, stabilizing yourself for the inevitable loss of blood. The main danger of throwing knives such as these was not the depth or length of the cuts they made, but the blood loss that several knives could incur. Well, here goes...

*$#@$*&&**&#*

The blood loss wasn't as bad as you anticipated, but you'll have to keep an eye on it.

You'll deal with the knife thrower later.

---

Commander Johannes Reik?

"...e our support. Terrell, get that woman to safety..."

These fl... of insight are ...turbing. What could it mean? ...Immaterial.... This fool... neuver... off guard. Must find... body strong mind weak... Oath... Selma

"FOOL!" You yell at the magician... his name you can't remember. These henchmen are useful, but have no creativity of their own. You thought that this group's trio had some promise, but apparently they do not function well without their larger friend.

"STOP HIM!" One of the other militia was attempting to escape with her. You don't have a clear line of sight at the moment... valuable time is being wasted. Any minute now He'll...

WHOOSH

A gust of wind blows the soldier off his feet. A crude, rudimentary spell, but you suppose it will suffice for this situation. At the least it will buy some time.

---

8680:

Look at that -- they're actually doing well...

They may have a chance after all.

I could help them.

---

Rupin and the others eventually join the fight, but by then the enemy has obtained a more defensible position. The two archers have retreated to the front and side of the building respectively, and the soldiers still on their feet are covering their fallen comrades.

How will you deal with this much-changed scenario?
Wait - where's Atem?

Summary:

NPCs:

Character Sheets

Spoiler:

Roll #7

Spoiler:

8680:
Take out my pamphlets, study them...

Relieved at having discovered a purpose and defeated that crippling indecision- and yet dreading the thought of the pain sure to come- you focus on your course of action.

You calm yourself with the techniques you've learned from the magic pamphlet and the more naturalistic pamphlet entitled "Finding your Inner Strength". You've never really put much faith into these methods, besides their calming and focusing value, but... in your mind, there's something else. Something just beyond the surface. Something that you can feel and can almost tap into and-

It's gone again.

Preparation. A plan. Mental is just as important as physical, if not more so. With that in mind, you take your combat pamphlets out of your satchel and begin perusing them frantically, hoping for some insight that could prove useful in the fight.

But you've read these all before. Of course, a review on the traditionally accepted parry stance and a diagram of the human body- with highlighted vital areas- is always helpful. But each moment wastes more valuable time. One theme is clear throughout all of these pamphlets, however. Know thine enemy.

...and study also the real combat, analyzing the chaos and noting any peculiarities of offense or defense in the combatants.

11

It's hard to formulate any clear strategy, what with half the soldiers still collapsed on the ground. And there's also the magicians- the unknown factor. What abilities could they hold? You can pick out a couple of patterns and fighting styles, though.

The two enemy archers have taken cover behind tables, and are shooting at combatants whenever visible. However, they are taking care not to shoot when there is a chance that their own soldiers could be hit.

The soldier in plate armor seems to employ brute force tactics. His armor is very strong, and it's only weak point currently found is the joint where the two leg plates meet below the knee.

---

Rulyon:
Find cover and reload my crossbow while doing my best to stay low and out-of-sight.

5

Looking for the nearest cover, you duck behind the counter, recently vacated by Roald, and sporting a broken arrow, ominously dripping with blood. You start to reload your crossbow while croached below the boards, and hope that the wood is strong enough to withstand arrows... Just then, you get a tap on your shoulder.

"Kyric!"

Spinning around with your crossbow in your hands, you nearly shoot... "Atem?"

"Is it clear? I'm waiting for the right moment."

You'd rather not look- after all, you're trying to maintain your cov- OH GODS! A crossbow bolt was embedded in the baseboard of the counter between you and Atem. You back up against the wall, hoping not to get skewered by anything extruding from the boards-that-are-definitely-not-strong-enough-to-withstand-bolts.

AerynPierre:
Continue my head on assault on one of the standing soldiers, using the sword as an attack/distraction.

...this guy is extremely fast. Armed with only a rapier and wearing extremely light armor, he's managing to fend off both you and Lieutenant Rupin, while the other soldier is doing his best to simply deflect Roald's attacks -- Roald may have an arrow wound in his shoulder, but he's swinging a tree trunk around, for the gods' sake!

...he also has an infuriating smirk, which he maintains while flitting between you and Rupin, all the while stroking his ridiculous beard. It has to no more than five inches long- tapering down to a point that looks like it could stab through plate armor.

You agree that this is profoundly relevant. This could be a weakness. Know thine enemy and all that.

Seeing you pull the knife out of your shoulder, the soldier- practically dancing now- flicks his rapier at you with a twist of his wrist...

15

...and you deflect it back towards him with a strong, decisive hit. The light weapon rebounds to the man's side, and the effort to stop its momentum is enough for you to be prepared, even as he swings it back around with lightning speed. Almost using your sword as a distraction, you angle your sword upwards to where his chain mail ends and his neck is only protected by a piece of leather- even as Rupin takes a full swing from behind him-

19

...the soldier attempts to compensate mid-swing, but your sword intercepts the swing and knocks it upwards, cutting the man with his own weapon.

Lieutenant Rupin:

Seeing the opportunity provided by the courier's improvised parry- excellent technique, indeed- you take a swing at his unguarded back.

Trading defense for speed has been your undoing, it seems.

But in doing so, you've turned your back on your incapacitated enemies. With a groan of pain, the tall soldier with the war hammer staggers up on his uninjured leg and grabs yours for support...

13

But your balance is impeccable. In fact, your instructor said that- nevermind.

You don't manage to shake the man's grip of iron off your leg, but you shift your weight to your unhindered leg and continue to let the swing take you...

10

...and your sword cuts into his back... at the waist. The soldier's belt takes some of the impact, but your blade still strikes true, and the man's back arches in pain.

13

...And you finally shake the man off as an arrow whizzes past you.

Curses. The first rule of swordplay: Never turn your back on your enemies.

And confound these couriers and their demented fighting techniques! Complete rubbish! Tackling men to the floor?! It worked, of course, but... Bah.

AerynPierre:
If an opportunity presents itself, strike at a weak point in armor (preferably neck) with the dagger I pulled from my shoulder.

Seeing Rupin's blade cut through the no-longer-smirking-mustached man, you seize the initiative and prepare to stab him with the throwing knife that was... passed to you by one of your comrades. A bit of an unwieldy weapon, considering it's usually thrown, but...

15

As the man rears back in pain, you thrust the knife into his neck- the part not occupied by his rapier. The man sinks to the ground, his eyes glassy, the twin wounds bleeding profusely from twin blades. If he's not dead yet, he soon will be.

The large man in plate armor groans- whether in pain or grief you cannot tell- and is attempting to rise, but at the moment cannot be more than half risen without supporting himself on a beam. You turn on the soldiers in the center of the shoddily formed circle. They were already starting to recover- the commander is back on his feet, the mage assisting one of the other fallen within the circle.

7

Cursing, you jump back as you dodge yet another arrow. It was hard enough getting past those soldiers without those DAMNED ARCHERS skinning you alive. You take cover temporarily behind a nearby table.

Talkal:
Get a second sword from a dead soldier, and attack with both swords the nearest enemies.

Seeing a soldier fall from Lupin and Earnan's efforts, you break from your cover and rush into the center of the battle. You stow your buckler in your pack, and run to the fallen soldier, ducking to avoid being hit with any arrows or collateral damage from your allies.

The large soldier leaning into the central beam does not take your intrusion kindly. He tries to stagger up, but fails, and so he simply pushes himself off the beam in your general direction. It wasn't thought out very well, but it seems to be an action made more out of rage than strategy.

4

You're unprepared for that method of attack, and he takes you to the ground, knocking the wind out of you. You try to get up, but there's a corpse on one side of you, and the soldier doesn't appear like he is in standing condition at the moment either. You raise your sword, trying to bash it against his side...

2

...but he knocks it out of your hands. He begins to throttle you- bare hands closing around your neck, the heavy weight of metal and flesh constricting your breathing, and the impassionate gaze through the slits in the man's visor...

Rulyon:
Pop out of cover, shoot at one of the enemy archers, and duck back down.

Sneaking back over to the side of the counter, you peek around the corner and aim your crossbow at one of the archers, ready to duck back at a moment's notice...

3

...but it seems that in your haste, you miscalculated. The bolt ends up within the wall above the archers. However, as you note with satisfaction before you take cover again, it seems to have thrown off one of the archer's aim.

Lieutenant Rupin:

One of the couriers is taken down by one of the soldiers. He appears to be being asphyxiated. You would rush out there, but the archers are covering the spot- waiting for someone to break cover but not willing to risk hitting one of their own.

Never turn your back on...

Oh, by the gods.

My combat instructor must be rolling over in his grave.

You rush to the courier and the soldier, locked in mortal combat, and hack at the man's heavy armor.

6 CLANG

Your first strike fails to break through the armor. Your right hand, the one pierced by the knife, is beginning to bother you. Speed healings don't always work fully.

thwing 8

A bolt narrowly misses you.

6 CLANG

You can't find purchase in the armor. Maybe it's your hand throwing you off... you don't have much time...

whoosh 4

AGH!

A tearing sound... in my chest... AGH

2 CLANG

You try one last time ...but the pain is too overwhelming... you almost hit the courier just then... you have to take cover.

Shakily uncorking a health potion, you haphazardly splash almost half of it on your chest. The effect is immediate -- the skin slowly knits itself back together from the outside in: pushing the arrow shaft out of the exit wound in your back, and leaving a bright red mark where the wound had been. You almost pass out from the pain, but when you ingest the rest of the potion it subsides some.

Talkal:

You start to see spots. You flail around for something- anything...

14

...and your hands lands on someone's head. And then a blade.

The rapier!

Roald:

You take care to keep the soldier between you and the archers. Won't do Selma any good if you get shot. Again. The blasted man is hacking your shield to pieces. Yes, it's a serving tray, but you had to improvise somehow.

You block again, trying to get a swing in...

7

...and the hit finally breaks your makeshift shield, blasting chips of wood over everything and cutting your arm.

Okay. That's enough.

You step back and swing your bouncer's club at his head, used to playfully crack more than one rowdy's skull on occasions.

2

But this soldier is no drunk lumberjack, and he sidesteps the swing as if it were simply a falling tree branch. ...which it is, essentially. But that's not saying anything for your combat abilities.

ENOUGH!

You take another step back, accessing the flow of your magic. You try to do this as one fluid motion, concentrating on some arbitrary poem as you do so. You've heard that enemy magicians can read minds and steal secrets, and you'd rather not share any of yours.

"ULDUR!"

4

For the second time, the soldier sidesteps the attack- this time he dives out of the way though, looking more fearful than normal. The blast continues towards the back of the inn, and flies towards Terrell, recovered from being blown against the wall and attempting to retrieve Selma.

13

Luckily, he manages to throw himself against the floor in time.

I've got to work on that.

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